


Carry Your Throne

by Chasingcara



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Lacrosse, M/M, Uni AU, University Students Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chasingcara/pseuds/Chasingcara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Duke lacrosse monarchy inducts yet another ruler to the throne today. <br/>He’s handsome - six foot something with sweat soaked hair and athletic shorts swishing around his knees, slender calves melting into large, neon Nike cleats. There’s a headband that’s pushing back his dark curls, one that has DUKE written across it in white letters pressed against a royal blue background.<br/>Because that’s what Duke lacrosse is : royalty. <br/>The team crowds around him and is a living, breathing beast that hoots and hollers as one of the deans announces “Harry Styles, Duke Lacrosse’s MVP of 2016".<br/>Louis hopes they knock him over. </p>
<p>or </p>
<p>a uni au with lacrosse player harry, artist louis, and a hate-to-love story set in the deep, privileged south. (feat. niall as the roommate, zayn as the fuck buddy and liam as the... other roommate).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry Your Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetharry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetharry/gifts).



**_carry your throne_ **

The Duke lacrosse monarchy inducts yet another ruler to the throne today. 

He’s handsome - six foot something with sweat soaked hair and athletic shorts swishing around his knees, slender calves melting into large, neon Nike cleats. There’s a headband that’s pushing back his dark curls, one that has DUKE written across it in white letters pressed against a royal blue background.

Because that’s what Duke lacrosse is : royalty. 

The team crowds around him and is a living, breathing beast that hoots and hollers as one of the deans announces “Harry Styles, Duke Lacrosse’s MVP of 2016”, and Louis almost hopes they knock him over. Styles is known for being aggressive on the field, further promoting Duke’s rebellious sports persona - people call him the Laettner of Lacrosse. He just _stinks_ of arrogance. As he takes the trophy from Dean Carlson’s hands, he kisses it and holds it up high, out of reach. It’s a warning sign : Off Limits. 

Niall is drooling.

“Hop off,” Louis tells him, shoving him over and breaking the trance he seemed to be in. Niall pouts and dusts himself off. 

“You’re just jealous that you have not an ounce of competitive spirit in you,” the blonde sneers (or tries to sneer, the poor boy couldn’t look intimidating if he tried). “Don’t give a single fuck for sports.”

Louis laughs. “You knew this before you dragged me here, Horan - don’t act like this is a new development.” The smaller boy picks at the dead skin on his thumb absentmindedly. “Dunno why you try to make me be interested in these things. It’s not going to happen.”

Niall rolls his eyes and scoots further down on the bench, like he’s attempting a silent insult. Louis just raises his eyebrows and tears off that hangnail on his thumb with his teeth, ignoring the faint taste of nail polish on his tongue from where his big tooth scraped at the top layer of the black varnish. People begin to cheer and Louis looks at the bleeding little tear in his skin, completely unphased. 

“Phenomenal player,” the bloke in front of Louis says conversationally to his friend, “but he’s gay. Feel like he might be too distracted in a locker room full of boys, you know? Just wouldn’t be fair to the other teammates to be constantly hit on.” 

Louis perks his head up and knits his eyebrows together in a mix of confusion and surprise. The ignorance of some Americans will never cease to amaze him. 

Without thinking twice, he puts one Adidas shoe flat on the man’s back and pushes, firm and powerful, so much so that the asshole almost falls into the person in front of him. Louis bites at his already reddened bottom lip (he sucked on a cherry popsicle just a half hour ago) and tries to hold in his smirk. When the man turns around with a glare, Louis shrugs his shoulders and says a quick, “sorry, slipped.” 

Maybe lacrosse games are more fun than he thought.

♕

Harry licks into Zayn’s mouth slowly, tasting him before running the tip of it over the pink haired boy’s tongue with more urgency. They’re panting, heavy and loud, but Harry’s got him up against the wall, ass clutched in his hands and Zayn’s rutting against him like it’s uncontrollable, like he’s not even thinking about it. Harry pulls away to catch a breath and the other boy runs open-mouthed kisses down his jawline. 

“So fucking proud of you,” he breathes, and Harry smiles into his bubblegum hair. “You’re so good, Harry, so proud.” 

Harry’s fingertips press harshly into the globes of Zayn’s bum and the smaller boy gasps into Harry’s skin, pushing his bare heels into the small of Harry’s back. Then their lips are attached again and Harry’s fingers are shoving beneath Zayn’s waistband. Harry groans loudly as Zayn’s nimble index and thumb pinch the zipper of his jeans and tug it down, his palm cupping the impressive bulge in Harry’s boxers. 

“If you’re gonna fuck, turn on music or some shit. Really have no desire to hear it,” Liam says through the door, pounding on the wood twice to get the message across. Zayn jumps from the sudden sound but Harry just rolls his eyes. It’s nearly three in the morning - it’s really Liam’s fault he’s awake. There’s some rule somewhere that says loud fucking is allowed past midnight at the frat. It happens often enough. 

“Sorry Lima,” Zayn calls through the door, fingers finding their way into Harry’s curls to calm their shaking. “We’ll handle it.”

“Or you can fucking sleep,” Harry shouts, pounding on the wall beside the pink-haired boy’s head so Liam could hear it, the thin wall being shared. Since his MVP and National Championship win today, he’s had all his things moved from the rookie room over the garage to the master, the one that’s (almost) secluded in the far corner of the frat. Unfortunately, Liam’s got second best on the team since he was voted best defender, and shares a wall with Harry. 

They’re still getting used to each other. 

“Be nice,” Zayn whispers. 

Harry tugs at the ends of his pastel quiff and knocks their teeth together when Zayn bares his neck with a moan, head gently colliding with the wall behind him. “What happened to being quiet?” Harry teases, running his teeth lightly across Zayn’s bobbing Adam’s Apple. “Naughty.”

Zayn laughs and shoves at Harry’s shoulder, sending him into a small fit of chuckles that rumble through The Lacrosse Player’s chest, ricocheting off of Zayn’s ribcage and melting into his heart. 

He thinks he likes Harry a lot. 

What a sad sentiment. 

“You… mhhh,” Zayn attempts, words getting lost in the pressure of Harry’s grip against his cock. The boy is sinful, grinning into Zayn’s neck as he pumps the red, pulsing member in his fist. 

“Hmm, baby? What was that?”

Zayn wraps his legs tighter around Harry’s waist and bucks up into his hand. “You - You need to talk to my friend… my friend from the art department.”

Harry rolls his eyes and stops moving his hand. Zayn whines. “Why are you bringing this up now?” Harry’s breath is hot and impatient on Zayn’s face. “I told you I would, so I will. Just give me a couple days.”

“You said that a week ago.”

Harry eases Zayn to the ground and huffs as he bounces onto his new double bed, hands over his eyes. It isn’t long before he’s got a boy straddling his waist and not-so-subtly rubbing their twin erections together. Harry’s large hands automatically reach up to grip The Dancer’s waist and stop his distracting bounces, the image enough to make Harry’s cock throb. “If you shut up and let me fuck you maybe I’ll go talk to him tomorrow.”

Zayn grins and leans down so their lips touch again. The chaste peck quickly snowballs into matching moans and battling tongues, and suddenly, Harry’s on top. His cross necklace dangles between them and Zayn breaks from Harry to kiss it softly. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

Harry sighs but nods. “What’s the guy’s name again?”

“Louis,” The Dancer tells him with a kiss, “Louis Tomlinson.”

♕

There’s no hot water left.

“What the fuck Niall!” Louis shouts, springing out of the way as freezing water pelts down his back. The spray got some of his hair so little drops of fucking Antarctica water run down his neck and trace the length of his spine just because he’s Louis Tomlinson and of course this wouldn’t work out for him. 

Of course there’s no hot water left. 

Niall’s cackles echo throughout the flat and Louis has never wanted to strangle someone more. The blonde has been increasingly frustrating - like more frustrating than usual, which is quite the accomplishment - because of that one boy Louis brought home a couple nights ago that sounded like a wounded animal as he fucked Louis. To say Niall was pissed would be an understatement. 

But now there’s no hot water left so Louis can be pissed at Niall now, too.

“You fucking leprechaun,” he grumbles, speeding through his shower trying to avoid the water as best he can, standing off to the side of the spray and only washing himself off by jumping in and out quickly. He’s got fucking things to _do,_ today, things like paint a Duke Monarch naked and have it hang in the art gallery thing for something like a month.

A whole month of Harry Styles’ dick (painted by Louis Tomlinson), on display. For someone’s viewing pleasure.

And there’s no. Hot. Water.

When Louis manages to get all the shampoo out of his hair, he dries off and slips into a pair of skinny jeans that he rolls up at the ankles a few times (because he likes the style, not because they’re too long) and an old t-shirt. His hair’s a mess - it’s always a mess - but because he’s already running late, he skips the combing and heads straight for the door, slinging his art bag over his shoulder and using his free hand to flick Niall off. 

Niall’s laughter could be heard down the hall.

  
  


Harry isn’t getting hard because of Louis.

He isn’t. That’s borderline impossible.

Louis keeps telling himself that it’s Harry’s exibitionist side coming out, or maybe just the fact that in the silence of the studio, his notoriously one-track mind is wandering to dirtier things. Maybe it’s the way his nails are digging into his thigh - maybe he has a thing for pain. 

But it’s not because of Louis. That’s borderline impossible. 

“Do you need a break?” Harry asks, clearing his throat before adjusting the jacket around his shoulders so it covers more of his skin. Louis raises his eyebrows, brush poised midair. “Because, like, I’m kinda cold right now and it would be nice if I could grab that blanket for a bit and warm up before we go again.” 

Louis bites down hard on his lip at Harry’s miserable attempt at addressing the issue at hand. And, like, it’s hardly an _issue_ because the whole point of this thing is for it to be _raw_ and _real_ and Louis is enjoying this whole process, how Harry flushes when Louis asks him to spread his legs a bit more, or to turn his face so he’s looking off to the side. It’s very beautiful, Harry’s body, and although it’s covered in bruises and scratches he’s got this statuesque quality about him that makes Louis want to paint him until his hand falls off.

His dick is nice too, but that’s another thing altogether.

“I mean,” Louis shrugs and sets his brush down so it’s teetering on the edge of his pallet, “we can just pick this up later if you want. We’ve been at it for a couple hours.” 

“That’s what she said.” 

“Jesus Christ are you twelve?” Louis laughs, rolling his eyes playfully and beginning to pack up his things. And if he sways his arse a bit as he does, that’s another matter. “But yeah, put your clothes on and go back to doing whatever you… athletes do.”

Harry stands and stretches. Louis looks out of the corner of his eye and notices Harry’s dick bobbing a bit, curving towards his hip. He seemed bashful before, while he was on display for Louis, unabashed and uncensored. But now that the brushes are put away, he’s making no move for his pants, which are lying discarded and in a heap on the cold tile of the studio. His feet pad over to the couch instead, planting himself on the cushion and crossing his left ankle over his right knee. “So, Louis,” Harry starts, narrowing his eyes at The Artist, “how do you know Zayn?”

Louis bends down a bit further, bum in the air as he unbuckles his messenger bag and starts shoving items inside. “We met last semester - he was in my drawing 2 class.” The smaller boy straightens and heaves his bag over his shoulder. “Hit it off pretty quick. Haven’t seen him much lately, though.” 

“Shame. He says he misses you.” 

“How do you know Zayn?”

Harry rubs at his neck and smiles cheekily. “He’s my… friend.” 

Louis rolls his eyes because _bullshit._ “So, like… you guys fuck?”

Harry laughs loudly, clapping his hands together like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Louis crinkles his eyebrows together in confusion - it wasn’t supposed to be funny. But Harry’s wiping at the tears formed at the corner of his eyes because apparently it was the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and that’s a bit sad. 

“I’m gonna… I’m just gonna go now,” Louis stammers, reaching for the knob. As soon as his fingers wrap around the cool metal, however, Harry races up behind him and grips at his hips, thumbing the bone there like he’s memorized Louis’ body, like he knows it. The fact that Harry’s still bare-arse naked races through Louis’ mind over and over, like a record on repeat, and it’s making the air feel stale and the light seems to stick to the walls. “What the fuck -”

“I’m trying to flirt with you,” Harry smiles, whispering into Louis’ ear. “Don’t think I’m doing too good of a job.” Before Louis can even begin to comprehend the words Harry’s breathing, fingers are tugging back his unruly hair and lips are closing around his earlobe and -

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Louis yells, jumping out of Harry’s grip and throwing the door open. A woman in a pantsuit is standing outside with a worried expression. Harry smiles at her. Louis runs away.

It’s his fault, really, that he thought he could connect with one of the most notorious flirts on campus, the king of all social events, of all lacrosse games - while said king was naked. Maybe once the clothes are shed, so are Harry’s inhibitions. _“If he ever had any to begin with,”_ Louis thinks to himself, huffing. Louis clutches at his (messed-up, still slightly damp) hair and pulls, heaving his messenger bag up on his shoulder more. He’s so dumb. When Harry replied to those fliers Louis put up Louis should’ve like, moved universities or something. That would’ve been more logical than what he just allowed to happen. 

Because Harry is, and will never be more than, a dumb, arrogant jock. 

Once Louis is safely outside of the studio, he ducks around to the side of the building, whips out his phone from his back pocket and types, **thx for the opportunity, but i don’t think harry and i will be working together again any time soon.**

He watches with relief as the blue line skates across the top of his screen, right below Zayn’s name. 

**_Message Sent._ **

♕

The next time Louis sees Harry is at a party.

He should’ve been expecting it, really - wherever the bass rattles the windows and the liquor is free is right where Mr. Styles will reside, cocky and casual, leaned up against the kitchen counter, a boy or a girl sucking drunken hickies into his neck. His usual party attire consists of something royal blue and lacrosse themed, and although half of the party is wearing the exact same thing, the way the colour looks against the tan of his skin makes him stand out. He was _made_ for royal blue. Louis wouldn’t be surprised to find out he bleeds it.

But the next time Louis sees Harry is at a party and there’s a small part of him that was anticipating his presence. 

Niall leaves Louis’ side early, rushing off to find the Guinness and the girls, while Louis begins to scan the crowded room for some familiar faces. He sees Zayn straight away, pushed up in the intersect of two walls, a man much taller than him practically devouring his face. Louis sees that the tall man isn’t Harry and wonders why he isn’t surprised. 

Next is Tammy, who’s already sloppy drunk and hanging off of Liam like he’s wearing her -

“Hey handsome.” The slur in his ear is more than familiar and Louis jumps, chills running down his spine. Eyes wide and unbelieving, he turns around and goes slack-jawed at the sight of Harry Styles grinning dopily at him. His hair’s a mess around his head - it’s so bad it’s almost a mane - and his eyes are lazy and drunk drunk drunk. Harry’s drunk and he called Louis handsome and Louis should’ve suspected it, really. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Louis exclaims, shoving him away. “Did I not make it clear that I’m not into you? Go away!”

Harry pouts and pulls Louis in by the shoulders. “We could… we could be like Harry and Sally, or like… Blane and Andie.” 

“Are you referencing 80s rom-coms? What the hell?” Louis squirms out of Harry’s hold and smooths his t-shirt against his stomach, hoping to show some semblance of control. Harry’s still grinning at him, happy and drunk and _flirty,_ and he has his fingers clenching and unclenching as he reaches out for Louis like a toddler asking for food. He’s got beer spilled down the front of him and something that looks like icing smeared just above his waistband, shown when he raises his arms and the hem of his jumper is tugged up.

Louis is disgusted.

“You’re… you’re foul.” The smaller boy takes one more look at the pathetic excuse of a man in front of him and tries to quell the feelings of pity and, like… a kind of motherly instinct. He’s arrogant and he’s rude and rich rich rich but he’s also alone, and obviously in need of a friend who won’t a) sleep with him or b) convince him to get even more plastered than he is now. Louis sighs and rubs the space between his eyebrows. He says, “do you know where Zayn is, Harry? Where’d he go?” The Artist begins to scan for the boy with the pink hair again but Harry puts a hand on his cheek and is speaking before he can find him. 

“Z-Zayn doesn’t like me anymore,” he laughs, breath rank and hot as it hits Louis’ nose. “I told ‘em I didn’t want to… didn’t want to be with him no more.” And then he laughs again, like lost friendships (or fuckbuddies) is some kind of joke Louis isn’t in on. The Lacrosse Player seems to get tired in the middle of his explanation and rests his curly head on Louis’ shoulder. The words are muffled against Louis’ t-shirt as he says, “didn’t want to do more than have sex with him. He- he wanted to go on dates and stuff but… Zayn’s not a datey person.” 

“Right, okay,” Louis affirms, trying to haul Harry away from the crowds and maybe ( _maybe)_ up to his room. He’s planning on depositing Harry on some bed somewhere and whether or not it’s _Harry’s bed_ will be up to fate. “You didn’t want to date Zayn and he got mad at you.”

Harry bites Louis’ shoulder and Louis thinks that means the conversation is over. 

The two of them stumble up the stairs and Harry isn’t helping, not one bit, and six feet of lanky _boy_ is leaning on Louis and he’s convinced he’s going to fall and break both of them. Harry’s laughing the whole time and Louis just wishes he would shut up for once in his life. 

People pass the two of them and smile or wave, while others look mildly concerned but don’t do anything. Harry slurs out some greetings but they’re all but unintelligible and no one responds with more than laughter. No one questions the completely sober boy taking a completely smashed one to a room somewhere and that worries Louis. 

Does this happen often?

Confused and concerned, Louis deposits Harry on a bed that has his number hanging above it and lets out an exhausted sigh when the Lacrosse Player nuzzles into the pillows, comfortable and calm. Louis mumbles out a “sweet dreams” and hopes no one noticed his absence as he goes back downstairs, looking for Niall, looking for Zayn, looking for anyone who might inform him as to what just happened.

  
  
  


Harry is coming back in to the studio today. 

It’s been radio silence on both ends of their… relationship, and Louis hasn’t heard from him or about him in the past two weeks, save for that article on his record breaking 45 points in his last game. When Niall read the piece he almost drooled. 

Niall is the peasant in the Duke Lacrosse hierarchy. 

Setting up his paints and pulling his jumper tighter around his shoulders (because it’s fucking winter and no one thought to turn up the heat), Louis wonders how Harry will react when they get to talking. It’s inevitable - conversation with your muse in the artistic process is critical, in Louis’ mind - just because, if Harry’s feeling down, maybe he’ll add some blues to the piece, or if he’s feeling confused maybe some purple. Conversation is critical and Louis is nervous.

He sits patiently behind the half-finished painting and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Soon, Harry’s forty-five minutes late and it’s getting dark outside. Louis doesn’t turn on any of the studio lights and instead uses the little lamp on the table beside his easel, illuminating his little corner of the room. When he lays on the ground and closes his eyes, he doesn’t open them when the door knob turns, or when he feels a body lying beside his. He doesn’t open them when he feels lips against his cheek.

Louis can feel Harry’s crown falling from atop his head as Louis curls into the taller, warmer body, feels everything gold from Harry’s touch return to it’s normal, boring state. Harry’s lying on the cold cement floor of Louis’ art studio - he’s no longer on a comfortable mattress inside a large, grandiose room.

He’s with Louis and he’s no longer a king.

♕

“Let’s throw a celebration party.” 

Louis shakes his head vehemently. “No - do you remember the last party I went to where you were present?”

“I mean, if we’re being honest, not really.” 

Louis rolls his eyes at Harry’s answer and admires the piece some more. It’s good - he knows it’s good. The way the colours blend together and how stark Harry’s tanned skin stands out against the background is almost startling, almost unsettling, almost uncomfortably honest. Harry’s looking down at his hands because there’s blue dripping from between his fingers, dripping to the floor. His hair is falling in his face and his cheeks are flushed and it’s hardly flattering, just because he looks very real, but when it was revealed Harry couldn’t say much else besides “gorgeous.”

Whether he was talking about himself or Louis’ painting is still unknown. 

“C’mon, Lou,” Harry pries, crowding him up closer to the wall, arms caging Louis’ shoulders. His breath smells like peppermint when he says “let’s throw a party.” 

Louis doesn’t reply. His eyes are darting back and forth from the pink of Harry’s lips to the green of his eyes and it’s intoxicating almost, like Harry’s the world’s most alluring drug, and there’s this attractiveness in the way Harry smirks that makes Louis’ heart beat faster than he thought it could. Louis reaches up a bit to thumb at the hem of Harry’s shirt, hoping to maybe bring him back to earth a bit. The action does nothing but make Harry smirk more. 

He’s won.

His prize is Louis’ lips on his, Louis’ tongue in his mouth, Louis’ hands over his shoulders, fingers linking behind his neck. Harry smiles against the constant pressure of Louis’ mouth and it’s not long before the smaller boy returns the favour. “You’re so stubborn,” Harry teases, pinching Louis’ bum just to hear him yelp. “So fucking stubborn - we could’ve been doing this two weeks ago.” 

Louis pulls away and shakes his head. “No - two weeks ago you were covered in beer and whatever else at your frat, plastered off your arse.”

“But you could’ve been kissing me.” 

“That would’ve been gross.” 

“You’re gross.” 

“You’re arrogant.” 

“You’re gorgeous,” Harry rushes out, lips hardly catching up with the words coming from his lips. He looks nervous as he says it, even though they were literally just swapping spit not a minute ago, and Louis thinks the whole thing is so fucked up and backwards that he laughs. A full-bodied belly laugh shakes the smaller boy’s frame and it only takes Harry a couple seconds to go along with it. 

They sit there, laughing and talking and kissing until the sun sets, and it’s only then that Harry whispers in Louis ear, soft and delicate, “so, you wanna go back to the frat?”

Louis thinks for about .02 seconds before saying, “let’s go to my flat instead.”

“Don’t you have a flatmate?”

“Don’t you have, like… 15?” 

Harry smiles at him and shrugs. “Guess you have a point.” 

So they walk, love-drunk and happy, down the street to Louis’ flat and Harry has Louis against the wall of the lift as soon as they enter it. His hands are all over Louis’ arse, his lips are all over Louis’ face, and his cock is straining against his athletic shorts as it rubs against Louis’ matching one. They’re groaning loud and obnoxiously and that makes sense, really, because those are exactly the words Louis would use to describe Harry. 

As the doors ding open, Louis takes Harry’s hand and drags him to the flat, unlocking the door with shaking fingers before letting himself be picked up and led to the bedroom, teeth clanking together as their smiles meet. 

“Last door on the left,” Louis reminds, and follows the instruction up with a groan. They crash through the door and Louis is eased onto the bed, back against the mattress, hips rutting up against Harry’s. “Fuck… _fuck.”_

“Shh,” Harry whispers, and Louis flicks his ear a bit because that’s patronizing. The taller boy pouts for a few seconds before running a hand through his hair and kissing Louis on the nose. Louis’ hips are still trying to find friction in Harry’s but Harry seems to have slowed the whole thing down - instead of panting and quick he’s taking his time, capturing all Louis is offering to him. “Do you have some lube?”

Louis nods and points to an old wooden nightstand with a single drawer, and when Harry opens it with shaky fingers he notices how in-line everything is. All items in it have a place, and he’s only a little scared to fuck the whole system up. “Just hurry _up,”_ Louis whines, and he’s bucking up into the hand Harry’s placed on his (still annoyingly clothed) cock, gasping when the tip catches between a couple of Harry’s fingers. “It’s on the… _mhhh_ , it’s on the right.” 

In the darkness Harry scrambles for the small bottle on the right side, almost crying in relief as his palm closes around it. He’s quick and efficient as the cap snicks open and the substance drizzles over his (actually massive, kind of scarily large) fingers. 

Louis whimpers. 

The curly haired boy looks down at his hands, then to Louis and frowns. “Um, I kind of forgot we were both still clothed, so like. If you could take your pants off that would be lovely.” Before he can blink Louis’ got his entire bottom half bare and is already tugging at the hem of his top. “Oh, Jesus that was quick -”

“Why do you keep talking? Are you, like, secretly a virgin? Can you get on with it?”

“That was a lot of questions -”

Louis leans up and slips his tongue into Harry’s mouth, reveling in the moan he earns and cupping the back of his neck with his dainty palm, rubbing the curls there with his thumb. They’re breathing heavy and hot as Harry moves to plank atop Louis and unzips his trousers with the sticky hand, wincing as he thinks about the washing up he’ll have to do later. Thank God this isn’t his room - cum on sheets is the worst. 

When one finger breaches Louis’ pretty pink rim, the boy whines and moves against the pressure, tangling the sheets until it’s almost a whirlwind of white surrounding them. Harry thumbs at Louis’ hip and adds another finger, hearing him moan and feeling the sound vibrate against his lips. He bites down on Louis’ fleshy bottom lip and feels the boy’s cock stand up straighter between them.

“M’... m’ ready just go,” Louis says and the sound is so loud in Harry’s ears he swears he hears an echo. He continues to move his fingers a couple seconds more, considering adding another finger, but then Louis pulls away to bite at his shoulder and say, “ _Harry.”_

“Yeah, yeah,” he relents, pulling his fingers from Louis’ hole and watching them glisten in the little moonlight shining in from the open windows. It doesn’t take much for Louis to urge him along - a quick pinch in the bum and a thrust of his hips - before Harry’s saying “I’m here, baby, hold on,” and reaching for the condom he saw in the drawer earlier, tearing the packaging with his teeth.

Harry’s so hard he’s aching, palming himself just a bit before dipping down to kiss Louis’ weeping, pink head. And if Louis almost comes from the sight of Harry’s lips glistening with his precum, that’s neither here nor there. 

“Ready?” Louis nods, head tilting back into the pillows as Harry glides his slippery cock into Louis’ hole, heat and wet and _Louis_ surrounding him. The stretch is anything but painful and Louis digs his heel into Harry’s bum to get him to bottom out, letting out a groan as he feels Harry’s massive member filling him to the brim. His hand goes to tug himself off, get himself a little closer to the edge, but Harry’s palm lightly pushes his away and replaces it with his own. He jerks Louis off in time with his (hard, fast) thrusts and thumbs at Louis’ head when his erection starts to flag, the action causing the small penis to chub up fully again. 

The bed is rocking back and forth and there’s a fleeting thought in Harry’s mind about the legs breaking, but then Louis says “harder, harder” and all other thoughts fly out the window. The smaller boy’s cock is spilling onto his belly with nothing but precum, the almost clear substance sliding down his shaft and gathering around his hairless base. Harry ducks his head to watch where they’re connecting and groans at the sight. 

“I’m getting close,” Louis breathes, and arches his back when Harry connects with his prostate. His small hand flies to his lower abdomen and his eyes start to water at the feel of constant, rhythmic pressure there. Little “uh uh uh”s fill the air when Harry echoes Louis’ earlier sentiment and starts getting closer to the edge, feeling the pleasure all the way down to his toes. “Harry, Harry, I’m…” Louis shoots onto his belly with a jerk, his legs shaking as his reddened cock settles cum all the way up to his neck, the love bites Harry scattered there beautifully on display. The sight alone makes Harry give one last thrust before cumming himself, filling the condom and collapsing beside Louis, heavy and exhausted. 

And when Louis’ eyes flutter open and his lips find Harry’s, the King feels all he is being given up, laid at the feet of this boy who, unknowingly, stole his heart and his crown and everything he thought he needed. 

But now that he’s here, content, he realizes that he doesn’t want to be anything but Louis’. 

Because when Harry’s with Louis, he’s no longer a king. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
